


You've Got the Wrong Impression

by DilynAliceBlake



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7558780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DilynAliceBlake/pseuds/DilynAliceBlake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliza is Alex's wingman and Bestie, but somehow everyone at Hamilton's work is under the impression that they're dating.  It's hilarious, so they don't bother correcting anyone, especially since it's a lie that keeps the friend group off their backs about their respective love lives.</p><p>Thomas Jefferson starts at work the day after fucking Alexander into the mattress, turning what was supposed to be an anonymous one night stand into a game to see how long they can keep the charade of enmity going without getting caught.</p><p>The real question is how long they can keep their casual affair going before getting caught in a relationship less than casual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"That one?" Eliza offers up the suggestion, and Alex crinkles his nose.

  
"No way."

  
"Why, what's wrong with him?  You're being difficult on purpose!"

  
"I don't want anyone I might develop _feelings_ for.  I've got to be able to focus on my career; none of that clingy romance bullshit.  I can tell by his freckles he's clingy."

  
"That doesn't even make sense!  Alright, fine then, what about....."

  
Her eyes quit tracking about the crowd, and alight where they've stopped with an unholy glee.

  
"There!  In the burgundy button down."

  
"Are you _kidding_?  He looks like he spends more on his wardrobe than I'd spend on a _car_!"

  
"Exactly, so you know for sure that you're not gonna want to more with him than a one night stand."

  
"I'm not even sure I could stomach _sleeping_ with him."

  
"He's your type!"

  
"He is _not_ my type."

  
"Really?  Because he looks like he could pick you up with one arm, has skin the _exact_ shade of your favorite coffee from Theodosia's, and there's _no way_ he got a wing that smooth with any eyeliner but liquid."

  
Hamilton thinks about the level of precision one's hands have to be capable of to get such a perfect stroke with liquid eyeliner, and decides that his night could end with a worse catch.

  
He nods assent to Eliza, then makes his way through the strobe lights and wriggling bodies to the stranger.

  
"So, how much of the decision when ordering a drink was because that tequila sunrise would complement your shirt?  Because you look like the type of guy who'd give a shit when picking drinks whether or not it went with his outfit."

  
Hamilton gets a coolly smug smile in response.

  
"Say I did pick my drink because it made me look even better.  You bringing it up as a conversation starter only proves that not only I was right in my choice, but that you're the type of guy who notices when the color of someone's drink clashes with their outfit.  You haven't got a leg to stand on."

  
"Then maybe I should sit," Alexander quips smoothly, and leans back onto the stool next to Smug Purple Shithead.

  
"Oh my _God_ you're obnoxious."

  
"Thanks.  You're pretentious."

  
"What makes you say that?" he raises an eyebrow, daring the answer.  Hamilton, as always, rises to the challenge.

  
"Your accent is on the condescending side of southern, and you're texting in French about what a jackass I am and how you'd rather be back in Monticello."

  
"You read French?" The man asks, suddenly showing more interest than he's given since their banter began.

  
"Enough to know that you're bored and you think I'm pretty.  Which is all I really need to know," Hamilton adds with a smirk.

  
"I must be desperate," he responds as he downs the rest of his mixed drink in one go.  They leave together, Alexander flashing Eliza a thumbs up on his way out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

"Really Frenchie?" Hamilton questions once they've made it past the door of his hookup's apartment.  The light taunt is in response to the chandelier hanging in the kitchen, and Alex is sure he has the right to feel incredulous.  After all, he never thought he'd meet someone so shamelessly gaudy.

"Shut up, before your mouth ruins your charm," Frenchie snarls, backing Hamilton into the wall as he begins on the buttons of his (admittedly nice) shirt.

"I'll have you know," Alex flirts, sliding his tongue across his lips, "that my mouth only _adds_ to my considerable charms."

" _Consider_ talking less," is the unimpressed reply, and then they're kissing.

Kissing quickly turns into more, and Alexander is delighted to learn that he was right about the man's clever hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Their first tryst of the night sees Hamilton being fucked on the kitchen counter, staring up at that obnoxious chandelier.  It's tacky, and they probably should have at least tried to make it to the bedroom, but the olive oil was _right there._ Besides, once his host had figured out the reason for Alexander's sass, he'd decided a lesson on appreciating the finer things in life was in order.

Alex was willing to admit that the lighting was a lot prettier when viewed through a haze of sweat and pleasure; but then, a lot of things seemed less objectionable when there was a cock up his ass.

His hookup's french tipped pale rose manicure for instance?  Very easily appreciated when those nails had scratched their way across his torso and were digging into the dimples on either side of Alex's lower spine.

" _Fuck, yes!_ " Hamilton gasps, and the thrusts switch to slow and hard as the man above him gives a (hah) cocky smirk.

"Save the vulgarity," he drawls, "for when I have you begging."

Alexander's grin is all teeth.                                               

"If you want me to beg you're going to have to _make me_."


	4. Chapter 4

After their first round of sex, Pretentious Asshole finally gets sick enough of Alexander's nicknames to give him something to call him.

"Jeff, if you _must_ ," he says in a put upon manner, though the name is obviously fake.

Hamilton doesn't give a shit one way or the other.

"Alex," he introduces, still out of breath, and they both gather themselves up enought to move to the bedroom.

The sheets are ridiculous, which Alexander makes sure to point out, but has to take back his original disdain for the luxury when he feels the threadcount against his dick as he's fucked into the matress.

He could get himself off like that, easily, but _Jeff_ is a master of moving his hips higher into the air any time his humping is about to get him somewhere fun, like orgasm.

"Dammit, just let me-" he tries to snarl, but gets cut off by a sharp smack to his asscheek.

" _Beg_ ," Jeff demands imperiously, one hand twisting in Alex's loose hair, and the way his cock jumps convinces Hamilton's pride to take the hit.

" _Please please please fuck please lemme cum wanna cum please..."_

As a reward, the man's hand moves to Alexander's dick, and his ridiculously meticulous nails do something _amazing_ to the slit.  It isn't long at all after that that Alex is coming all over the stupidly soft sheets, cussing extra out of spite.


	5. Chapter 5

' _Three_ ,' Hamilton finds himself thinking after a very competitive sixty-nine where he only barely held out longer, ' _isn't a bad number of times to come in one night.'_

Somewhere between the makeout against the wall by the door and where he finds himself now half dozing in post climactic euphoria, Alexander lost the ponytail holder that had held a french braid in place.

He thinks distantly, as he drifts off, that between his French braid, Jeff-who-texts-mean-things-in-French, and the arriving French transfers at his office, the nationality is showing up an awful lot in his life this month.

It's probably a coincidence.


	6. Chapter 6

"Son, I'd like you to meet our latest transfers here at the New York office.  This is Marie-Joseph, and Thomas.  They're cousins, and both have wonderful work reviews.  They're here at the glowing recommendation of our _esteemed colleague_ ," Washington stresses to Alexander, "James Madison.  Help show them the ropes while they get settled at our branch of the company.

Fellows, this is Alexander Hamilton."

Hamilton chokes on his tea when he sees the similar looking pair, but can't be assed to care about the awful impression he's probably making.

"Lafayette, please," says the one on the right with a light voice and undeniably foreign accent.

The man on the left doesn't even look up from his files, just drawls out a bored "It's Jefferson, and keep your suggestions to yourself."

He means about the job; obviously confident that he won't need any help getting into the swing of things or figuring out how things work.

It's too late, though, Alexander's mouth is running off without his brain.

"Surely, **_Jeff_** erson, you can admit that I might have _some_ good suggestions."

He had, after all, been the one to suggest the blowjob competition.

Across from him, Thomas Jefferson's entire frame tenses, and it makes Hamilton feel a little bit better about having choked on his tea.

Then the reality of his new work situation settles in, and he can't help but groan.

 _'I hope I'm not making a habit,'_ he muses through his fog of apprehension, _'of being unable to help groaning when in this man's company_.'


	7. Chapter 7

"What happened to the nail polish?" Alexander Hamilton prods, uninvitedly taking lunch in Jefferson's new office.  It's irritating, but Thomas already knew that about him.  Thomas knows a lot about his new boss's secretary and proverbial right hand that could be helpful, if it weren't so damned awkward.

One night on the town before foresaking anything that could damage his image; that's all he had wanted.  One trashy, no strings hookup without so much as the exchange of names before beginning to build up his political career stateside.

Except the man had apparently given his _actual name_ , which was only the first steppingstone the man had taken across a river of overfamiliarity just in the short time Thomas had known him.

Not that it mattered.

One stroke of bad luck, and his entire reputation was now in the hands of the nuisance across from him.

Thomas wants to say _"Fuck off"_ in response to the question.  To kick the man out and pretend that their shared weekend had never happened.  He completely plans to go through with that course of action, but his mouth is answering in a voice somewhere between a tease and a taunt.

"It didn't match this suit," he replies, sounding lazy and at ease in a way he knows that he isn't.  ' _What?  What was that?'_

Jefferson is trying to convince himself that he wasn't flirting when Hamilton flirts back.

"You're right," Alexander says with some consternation, eyeing the vision of lime green in front of him.  "I miss it, though," he adds, and winks, tossing his plate in the trash and sauntering out the door.  Thomas feels his anxiety bubble, and prays that this isn't a crush.


End file.
